


The Moon and The Sky

by acaelousqueadcentrum



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acaelousqueadcentrum/pseuds/acaelousqueadcentrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn't have to deal with this on The Ark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon and The Sky

Clarke woke feeling off. Sore. Achy.

She wanted nothing more than to burrow under the thick pile of furs that made up her bed, but she could not.

She and Lexa were due to head north, to try and make contact with the People of the Lakes to bring them into the ever-expanding alliance of Grounder tribes. She could afford no weakness, not with the Commander riding at her side for the next several days.

And so instead of hiding her head, Clarke rose and dressed in the cold morning air. She filled her pack—a bundle of dried meat and a hunk of the thick, chewy loaves the Grounders made over their fires, a small square of their tart cheese, some first aid supplies just in case—and her water skin, before slipping the knives Lexa had given her into her boots, and grabbing the gun Kane had agreed to let her take.

Outside the grass was crunchy with frozen dew, and the first rays of sunshine just barely peeked over the mountain range in the distance as Clarke pulled on the heavy leather jumper she’d received in trade after helping a young grounder with a sudden case of appendicitis, and shouldered her bag.

She started on the dirt path that would take her to the meeting place, where Lexa would be waiting with the horses, deciding against stopping to see her mother before she left. Abby would know that something was wrong—she always did—and try to keep her from leaving the settlement, Clarke knew.

She couldn’t take that risk.

The mission was too important to their siege against the last holdouts in Mount Weather.

She would be fine.

She would be.

~ * ~

They’d been riding for several hours, just the two of them. They were due to meet with the leader of the Lake People in three days, and they’d decided, after much debate and discussion amongst both the Sky People and the Grounders, that a delegation of just the two women would be best. Non-confrontational, but both well able to handle themselves if trouble arose.

The ones to argue most vehemently against the decision, of course, had been Abby and Indra. The doctor still unable to see what a powerful and capable woman her daughter had become—had always been, really—and Lexa’s stubborn general still not quite trusting of the Sky People or their golden-haired princess.

But eventually the dissenters were silenced, and Lexa informed Clarke they’d ride out first thing the next morning.

The Sky-girl was quiet, unnaturally so. Normally, whenever Lexa found herself in Clarke’s company for any length of time she found herself wondering if the Sky People had had so much space up there with the stars that they’d needed to fill it with the sound of their own voices. She’d said as much once, right in Clarke’s hearing, and the light-haired woman had just laughed it right off.

But today she found herself missing the constant chatter; the questions, the stories, the things Clarke would say that sounded so strange, so otherworldly. She found herself missing the sound of Clarke’s voice, the way it filled all of the spaces in her head and left her no room for other thoughts. Thoughts of the past, of a girl with eyes like midnight and fingers like fire.

Lexa turned on her mount, looking back to where Clarke was following just a few paces behind. She’d given the Sky-girl her own journey horse for this trip, trusting that the beast was sure of foot and fleet when the need called for it. She’d chosen her to ride her warhorse instead, even though the heavy creature was a bit cumbersome in the woods. He’d come in handy if they met any adversaries along the way. Nam was the best charger she’d ever seen in battle.

"Does my horse not please you, Clarke of the Sky People," Lexa called back in a challenge, seeing how displeased the woman looked as Taifa trotted along.

Clarke just grimaced and tapped her heel gently against the mount’s side to pick up the pace.

Lexa grinned.

~ * ~

They stopped to water the horses just after midday and Clarke stumbles off into the bushes while Lexa climbs a nearby tree to watch the sky and a collection of troublesome clouds she saw threatening in the distance. 

Clarke vomits once, twice, before swigging some cold water from her water skin and spitting to rinse the taste from her mouth. The ache from this morning is now a throb, a painful pulling inside her body. She wants nothing more than to curl around this pain, to tuck into herself and hold tight the parts of her body that want to break away. For a moment or two earlier, she considered the possibility that she, too, might have a problem with her appendix, and has a terrifying vision of trying to talk Lexa through a surgery in the woods, but the pain is everywhere in her abdomen, not just the one side as she knows appendicitis would be.

It’s just something that disagrees with her, Clarke reassures herself as she steps from the bushes, too much stew the night before, perhaps.

In moments, Lexa descends from the trees, a troubled look at her brow, but Clarke barely sees it as she slowly, gingerly mounts Taifa again.

"Ha," Lexa says to her horse, and they’re off again.

~ * ~

The Commander was concerned.

There were clouds on the horizon. Ugly clouds. If it were earlier in the season, they’d be in for a drenching. A heavy rain that would make traveling through the woods difficult, but not impossible.

But the cold season threatened. It was early this year, true, and looked to be more vicious than any in recent memory. Her people were working harder than ever to bring in the last of the crops before the first snow.

Which, Lexa glanced upward again, past the bare limbs of the trees to the cold sky, looked to be today.

But beyond the storm, there was something wrong with her traveling companion. It wasn’t just Clarke’s silence that worried her. It was the pale color of her skin, the pained look on her face, the lethargic droop of her body as they rode.

She’d called back more than once, asked the Sky-girl if she was okay, if they needed to stop. But Clarke had refused, and each time her refusal was stronger. As if she couldn’t bear to give in in Lexa’s presence.

Lexa admired the woman’s stubbornness, her strength, her tenacity.

But underneath her admiration, there was worry.

And that, the worry, was the third thing that concerned the Commander of the Grounders.

Because she couldn’t afford to worry about anyone.

Worry was weakness.

Like love.

~ * ~

It was almost dark when Clarke felt herself fall.

As she hit the ground, everything went black, and she felt nothing.

~ * ~

Lexa heard the muffled sound of a body falling in the brush, and over it, Taifa’s whinny.

Her blood went cold.

It had nothing to do with the temperature.

She turned and in the dim light of early evening saw her horse, riderless.

Clarke was nowhere to be seen.

The Grounder dismounted and grabbed for Taifa’s reins, running a hand over the mount’s neck to calm her as she looked around, whispering for the Sky-girl as her sharp eyes struggled to identify any potential enemies in the trees.

"Clarke," she whispered again, hard and fierce, and heard a soft moan just a pace or two away.

The woman was on the ground, pale and shaking.

Lexa covered the fallen woman with her own body, still unable to see where the attack had come from.

"Where are you hit," she whispered, her hands roaming up and down Clarke’s body, searching for the shaft of an arrow, the wound that had the girl dazed and in such pain.

But she found nothing.

"Princess," she said, her tone harsh, hoping the name she knew Clarke hated would cut through the haze in the girl’s eyes, "what happened."

It works, and the Sky-girl stares intently at the Grounder Commander, focusing through whatever has felled her.

"Hurts," she whispered with a strained voice, fear at the edges.

Lexa looked down at the light-haired woman’s body, eyes searching for anything to explain what had happened.

Finally, in the orange light of sunfall, she sees.

The way Clarke clutches at her stomach, the dark patch along her pants, the scent of blood and life.

Lexa understands.

"We must find shelter," she says, deciding that their journey is over for the day, "can you stand?"

She helps Clarke up, and bears most of the other woman’s weight back to the horses.

"Hold on tight," she says as she cinches a rope around the Sky-girl’s legs and takes Taifa’s reins in hand as she remounts Nam. If Clarke can manage to stay on the horse, they should be able to get to the caves on the northernmost border of Grounder territory in just a short while.

Not ten paces later, Lexa feels the first flake of snow fall upon her nose.

She sighs.

Of course.

~ * ~

Clarke doesn’t remember much of the ride after her fall.

Just the motion of the horse under her thighs, the way the air bit at her skin and clawed at her lungs.

Mostly, though, she remembers the sound of Lexa’s voice just a step ahead. Not what the Grounder leader was saying, just the tones of her voice. Smooth and soothing.

The next thing she knows Lexa is helping her down from Taifa and onto the cold stone floor of a cave. It’s clearly been used before—someone, sometime, hung a patchwork quilt of leather pieces over the opening, and Clarke watches as Lexa draws it across to keep out the wind that howls outside.

The darker woman makes a fire out of the wood piled neatly toward the back of the cave, and soon there is warmth and light.

Clarke drinks it in like water, letting the heat warm her frozen fingers and face.

Even the pain inside eases as the warmth of the fire washes over her.

And for a moment, she feels that everything will be well.

Until she looks down.

~ * ~

Lexa is settling the horses when she hears Clarke’s gasp.

"What is it," she asks, moving closer to the fire.

Clarke looks up at her, eyes wide and afraid. “I think I injured myself when I fell,” she says and looks down at her legs again.

For a minute, Lexa thinks maybe she was wrong, maybe Clarke did injure herself. After all, how likely is it that Clarke truly would not know, that she would be so unaware of herself, her body. But then Lexa thinks about the Sky People, and their odd traditions, and how some things that are so familiar to her and her people are absolutely inconceivable to these men and women who fell from the stars.

"Clarke," the Grounder says gently, "you are not injured. You are not sick. You are just having your moons."

But the Sky-girl looks back at her, not understanding.

On the ground, Lexa recalls, when this first happens in a young girl’s life there is a celebration. A small feast. The bestowing of a gift. The young girl is a girl no longer, but a woman. Lexa remembers her first time, the scent of the blood and the ache in her breasts. How Anya presented her with a pair of boots, the softest of leather.

She thinks back to Anya, and for the first time in many moons, she misses her warrior, her guide, her teacher.

"Your moons," Lexa repeats, "your blooding? A sign that you are no longer a child, but that you are a woman. Have you truly never experienced this before?"

The Commander watches as understanding passes over the other woman’s face.

"Menstruation," she says, "we call it menstruation."

Lexa laughs at the word. “Men,” she answers, “have nothing to do with it.”

At that Clarke smiles.

"We learned about it on the Ark," the Sky-girl starts, "but in order to control the population, our cycles are suppressed. With medicine. It must finally be wearing off."

"Suppressed? With medicine," Lexa asks. It sounds ridiculous.

"Our resources on the Ark were limited," Clarke explains, "so reproduction—pregnancy—had to be controlled. We were given pills to halt our … our moons, so that we wouldn’t get pregnant unexpectedly. And when we were given permission by the council to have a child, then we would stop taking the pills until after our child was born."

"And your people call us barbaric," Lexa says with a frown.

Clarke says nothing for a moment, sitting and staring at the fire.

"Does it always hurt this much," she asks after a moment.

"Not always," Lexa answers, "and some never experience pain at all. But there are some for whom the moons are always painful, no matter what is done."

"And you," Clarke asks, just as the Commander expected.

She thinks back for a moment. “At first they were painful,” she remembers, “and the first time very much. But not anymore, not often.”

And even when they are, it goes unsaid, the Commander of the Grounders does not let them interfere with her duties.

Lexa sees the troubled look on her companion’s face.

"It is no dishonor to be in pain, Clarke," she says, "only to let that pain better you. You handled yourself well today. Like a true warrior."

"I held us back," Clarke answers, "I fell from my horse, I made us stop."

But Lexa will not hear it.

"You rode for hours in great pain. And it is the snow which stops us, and gives you time to rest. You faltered, true, but your only mistake, Sky-Princess, was not telling me. I could have eased your pain before it overcame you."

Some of the shame melts away from the smaller woman’s face, and Lexa finds herself strangely relieved.

"I spoke to you once," she says as she stands and reaches for her pack, "of a woman, Costia. She was … important to me. Her moons were painful—always. But the healers gave her a tea, and her pain was lessened."

When she comes back to sit beside Clarke again, there is a packet of herbs in her hand, and a small clay pot. Lexa fills the pot with water and places it into the fire, watching as the water heats quickly.

When it begins to boil, she reaches in to grab the vessel, and then mixes in a pinch of herbs from the pouch. The water turns dark as the mix of bark and herbs brew into a tea.

"It will be bitter," Lexa says, turning again to Clarke who’s wrapped her arms tight around herself as she watched the Grounder work, "but it will work quickly to ease the ache within. Drink it while I heat some more water so you can wash yourself."

~ * ~

Clarke obliges, not even caring that the words came out more as a command than a suggestion or request.

The taller woman is right, the tea is bitter, and Clarke finds herself closing her eyes and gulping the hot liquid down as fast as she can, just so she won’t have to taste it. She can feel the warmth as it spreads down inside her chest, down into her belly.

She hopes it works.

She doesn’t like feeling weak, feeling helpless.

Not in front of Lexa, who is always so strong.

~ * ~

Lexa heats more water once Clarke finishes her tea. Enough that the other woman can wash herself, the blood that stains her thighs

"Take off your pants," she says, quiet now, soft. She sees the red of Clarke’s face, the embarrassment, and sighs at how the Sky People have so distanced themselves from the land, from their very bodies, that a strong, powerful woman—warrior—like Clarke feels shame at this. At something that is just another part of life.

Clarke takes the cloth, wet with warm water, from her and slowly lowers her pants while Lexa turns to watch the shadows dance along the wall of the cave.

"In our culture," she says, hoping to ease Clarke’s discomfort, "when a girl begins her moons, there is joy. She has reached the age of adulthood. If her mother lives, she gives her daughter a gift to honor this new part of life. If not, someone else in the tribe, an elderwoman or a relative does. We are proud of this part of our selves, the power to create life, to bring children into the world. Do not be ashamed, Clarke of the Sky People. Do not hide your eyes, your face, because you bleed."

She turns and sees that Clarke is almost finished.

"Blood, Clarke, is strength. Be proud of it."

~ * ~

The tea begins to work, and slowly Clarke feels the tense, twisted muscles inside her begin to ease and unwind.

"You’ll have to teach me how to make that tea," she says, drowsily. "I have a feeling many in the camp will soon have need of it."

Lexa is sitting next to her, playing with a large flat rock in the fire.

"I will have our healer instruct you," she says, "on the tea, and the other methods my people have for easing such discomforts. Like this."

Lexa hands her a small bundle of cloth, and Clarke looks up at her, confused.

"Many women do not like the feeling of blood, it distracts them. So they use these to catch it."

Clarke looks closer at the object in her hand. The cloth is tied around something, and when she opens it, she finds a tightly packed bunch of dried moss.

"I remember our teacher telling us about something similar," she tells Lexa with a grateful smile, and rises to relieve herself and try the re-tied bundle.

When she returns from the cold, snowy outdoors, the stone Lexa was playing with is sitting beside her bedroll.

"Costia," Lexa says, almost shy, "liked heat against her in the worst of her moons. We don’t have a large skin to fill with water and heat, but a warm stone should work too."

Clarke nods, and lays down, bringing the hot stone to rest against her stomach.

"Costia was wise," she says, feeling the relief it, too, brings.

Lexa is silent for a moment before responding.

"She was," the Grounder Commander says, and Clarke can hear the loss and the longing in her voice.

"Tell me about her," she asks.

After a moment of quiet, Lexa complies.

Clarke falls asleep to the sound of Lexa’s voice, telling tales of the woman she once loved.

~ * ~

In the morning, they rise together, silent in the cold, cold air.

Lexa makes more tea as Clarke rolls up their bedding and repacks their bags.

Outside the world is white and pure.

It’s a good day for a new beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the weird fic. I just get frustrated with heroines who don't have to deal with things like biology. Like what, they're going to hit up a CVS for some Kotex?


End file.
